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The First Day: Light
THEN THE FSM SAID, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And the FSM adjusted his willowy eyestalks and saw that the light was good; and the FSM divided the light from the darkness. He called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night or “Prime Time.” So the evening and the morning were the first day.
The Second Day: The Firmament.
The FSM was tired of flying and He couldn’t tread water for very long, so he said, “Let there be firmament in the midst of the waters, and let the firmament form coves to one day provide safe harbour for Pirates – no, wait, firmament is a stupid word; let it be called land, since ‘firmament-ho!’ sounds even stupider then plain firmament – and let this land divide the water. And let there be a volcano to spew forth beer, which seems like a benevolent idea.” And the volcano spewed forth beer and he tasted it and declared it to be quite good. So the evening and the morning were the second day.
The Third Day: Land and Vegetation
When the FSM awoke, his thoughts were muddled and He didn’t know where he was. Slightly hungover, and somewhere in the Indian ocean, the FSM found himself a little confused about what he had created the day before; and so, self-conscious about the previous night’s misbehaviour, He started barking Godlike orders in an attempt to re-establish His powerfulness, and then the FSM decided to organize. He said, “Let the water under the heavens be gathered together in one place, and let the dry land appear” (having forgotten about Day Two’s firmament command), and He called the dry land Earth (having only yesterday come up with the term Land), and the gathering together of the waters he called Seas. And the FSM dried His Noodly Appendages under the hot Light, and He saw that it was good but that there was a problem. For now He had an earth full of Land and Firmament, which wouldn’t do. So he lifted Day Two’s firmament up to the heavens and renamed it Heaven. The land from Day Three He left where is was. Heaven seemed like a sweeter pad, and the FSM decided He’d live there and commute to the earth. Then the FSM said, “Let the earth bring forth grass, semolina, rice, and whatever else can be turned into food that resembles my Noodly Appendages,” and He saw that this was an original idea, which was certainly good. That night He drank a little less from the Beer Volcano, which was relocated to Heaven along with the rest of the firmament. So the evening and the morning were the third day.
The Forth Day: the Sun, the Moon, the Stars
At this point, the FSM was a little sore from overexertion. It was difficult for Him to find a comfortable resting position during the night, which was darker then squid-ink pasta would eventually be. So He said, “Let there be lights in the heavens, and let there be two lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser to rule the night.” And since He had big plans for the next day, He turned in early. So the evening and the morning were the forth day.
The Fifth Day: The Big Bang
The fifth day was going to be huge, so the FSM rose early. Then He said, “Let the waters abound, let the skies fill with birds, let the earth bring forth creatures, each according to its kind. Then let them canoodle and be fruitful.” And he saw that it was good, and He was feeling pretty proud of himself, so He hit the Beer Volcano hard that afternoon.
Later that evening He rolled out of bed and landed hard on the firmament, and this, fair reader, was the true Big Bang. He had a funny feeling and realized in His drunken stupor that he had not only built a factory in Heaven that turned out scantily clad women in transparent high heels, but He’s also created a midget on earth, whom He called Man. And He said, “Wow. Even I might have overreached my Noodly Appendage on this one,” and not even sure what day it was anymore, he decided to take an extended break from the whole creation gig, and He gave a quick blessing and declared, “From here on out, every Friday is a holiday.”
The Olive Garden of Eden
That midget, however, was goddamn noisy. The FSM couldn’t deal with all the complaining down on earth, so the Lord FSM commanded the midget, saying, “Here’s an idea . . . why don’t you collect the semolina, rice and what-have-you, and make pasta in my image. That’s what it’s there for. And fill your mouth with it and be quiet and peaceful. But be careful with the olive tree, for the olive itself is good, but the pit inside is rock hard and you could choke on it or break a tooth, so you should consider it as evil; if you choke you shall surely die. Which would mean I wasted a hell of a lot of time on you, although I’m already having second thoughts.”
Man wasn’t excited about eating pasta seven nights a week, so the FSM broke down and brought him all the animal, and Man renamed each as a food group. Cattle he called “beef.” Pigs he called “pork,” “ham,” or “bacon.” Strangely, Man stuck with “chicken” for chicken. Perhaps Man was tired at this point and has lost his sense of creativity.
The FSM suggested that Man take a nap, so he did. When he awoke, the FSM said, “Man have I got a surprise for you. Check this out. Woman!”
The midget stared blankly for a moment, then said, “Can I keep her?” And the FSM said, “From now on a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh,” and the FSM thought to Himself, This should be interesting.
“I owe you one,” said the midget-man.
Before long Man broke his damned tooth on that olive pit, and the FSM said. “What did I give you ears for if not to listen to me?” And Man said, “I have ears?” And he eventually located them on the sides of his head, but not before discovering a small Noodly Appendage between his legs, which he noticed was infinitely smaller then even the shortest of the FSM’s appendages, and he realized that his woman appeared to be thinking the same thing, so the midget-man said, “Hand me one of those fig leaves, will you?”
Later the woman suggested that Man didn’t need such a big fig leaf, and she hinted that there might be another Man somewhere on earth, maybe Eden had a gardener somewhere, and the midget-man looked her up and down and said, “one word, honey. Cellulite.”
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves coverings. And they heard the sound of the FSM floating around the Olive Garden and they hid and said, “What are you doing here?” Then the FSM said, “Where are you?” Man said, “I heard you floating around over there, and I was afraid because I was naked; and I hid myself.”
And the FSM said, “That’s fine, but can you tell me where you have hid those delicious breadsticks? I haven’t eaten since the Creation.”
“We ate them all,” the midget-man lied. “There aren’t any more breadsticks left.”
The Flood
Then the FSM saw that the wickedness of Man was great on the earth, and that every thought of the little midget was ruled by his stomach.
Then the FSM said, “Fine, I’ll just cook for myself,” and He produced a great Colander of Goodness and He did collect water in an enormous pot, which he heated; and He did drop in a heaping portion of pasta and slowly simmer the sauce for so long that the original humans weren’t even around anymore when He was finally ready to eat. And He poured the spaghetti and water into the Colander of Goodness, careful to make sure the water went down the drain of His sink. And as He was eating, He vacantly considered where the drain did empty, and the FSM said, “Uh oh.”
Luckily, Noah and Noah’s sons, Ham, Cheese, and Omel, and Noah’s wife and the three wives of his sons with them, had been working on “Big Noah’s Floating Menagerie,” which was to be housed in a giant ark of Noah’s design. On that day all the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and the drains of the heavens were opened. And the rain was on the earth forty days and forty nights, and the ark did float but it did stink.
After several battles with Pirates, the ark did finally rest on Mount Ararat, and when the waters receded it was a long walk home for Noah and his family. And no one could locate the unicorn pair, but they did discover Noah’s son Ham in a back chamber of the ark, picking his teeth with an oversized toothpick that remarkably resembled a horn.
The Tower of Scrapple.
Like Noah, his sons were real entrepreneurs, and they did spread out – Ham went to the southern nations and started the Hamites; Cheese went to the central nations and started the Cheese-Its; and Omel journeyed northward and started the Omelets. There they did establish family diners to supply the locals with foodstuffs.
Ham, who was a bit of a troublemaker and always looking to squeeze out a few extra sheckels, determined to develop a foodstuff that could be produced from the leftover pig snouts and sawdust that did normally just get thrown in the garbage at the diner. He ground up the waste and did call it “scrapple.” And he did enlist the help of Nimrod to help market the scrapple. Needles to say, it wasn’t a fast seller, and the scrapple did pile up out behind the dinner, sitting under the sun until it formed a sort of wretched tower.
Since they couldn’t sell it for food, Nimrod suggested that they call it the Tower of Scrapple and charge a fancy sum for passersby to come and behold its majesty. “A fool is born every minute,” he said to Ham, and Ham agreed.
Shortly thereafter, the FSM started noticing a bed smell around the firmament. He floated down and declared, “That thing, and I mean this quite literally, stinks to high heaven. What do you think you’re doing?” Thinking fast on his feet, Nimrod said, “We built it as a tribute to your greatness.” But the FSM wasn’t buying it. “I thought I told you to be fruitful and fill the earth,” He said to Nimrod. “And not with flies, with people.” Nimrod didn’t have a response to that, so the FSM told him, “Just tear it down.”
Mosey
And the diners did prosper, the population feasted and grew in number until there were so many short-order cooks that Phil the night manager did fear a revolt to his authority.
And he ordered that no more short-order cooks be hired, but one young boy named Mosey, who couldn’t sit still and was always running his mouth, did talk his way into a job by claiming to be able to cook “the best papyrus on rye this side of the Euphrates.
Mosey did indeed cook a mean papyrus, and he was an artist with the deep fryer, but he did grow tired of the long hours and the mistreatment, and one day he walked into his manager’s office, threw down his apron, and said, “I’m tired of the nine to five. I’m quitting to become a Pirate.”
That got the FSM’s attention, and he kept careful track of Mosey. In fact, years later the FSM, who had grown tired of Phil’s mistreatment of the short-order cooks and was getting to be in a generally bad mood, found Mosey camping out in the desert, drawing up plans for a massive Pirate Ship, and the FSM spoke to Mosey through a burnt roasted marshmallow and commanded Mosey to go back and lead all the short-order cooks from under Phil’s control. The FSM bade Mosey to hire the cooks and start a restaurant of his own, preferably one that specialized in foods more to His liking. “Maybe call it the Olive Garden. You could manage the kitchen staff,” said the FSM. But when Mosey returned to the diner, Phil refused to release the short-order cooks’ last paycheck if they followed Mosey.
Now the FSM was really angry with Phil, and he punished him with the following plagues:
Phil relented, and the FSM commanded the short-order cooks to celebrate the yearly “Pastover,” where the angel hair pasta of death passes over all the houses that have a smear of sauce on the doorpost.
Now the FSM spoke to Mosey, saying, “This month shall be the beginning of your new restaurant franchise; it shall be the first month of the rest of your life. Speak to all the short-order cook saying ‘Begin your sauce on the tenth day of this month. Every man shall prepare a sauce, stirring it occasionally. If you don’t have enough people to eat it, go over to your in-laws’ house.
“`Now you shall cook the sauce until the fourteenth day of the same month. And you take some of the sauce and smear it on your doorpost. Then you shall pour the remainder of the sauce over a heaping bowl of the pasta of your choosing, and you shall eat all of it.
“`With a belt at your waist, a patch over your eye, and a cutlass in your hand, you shall eat the pasta. For you are no longer short-order cooks, but the sauce on your door will mark you as Pirates!’”
Though Phil had reluctantly agreed to release the last paychecks, as soon as Mosey led the short-order cooks out of the diner, he changed his mind. Phil chased after them, all the way to the giant puddle of spaghetti sauce that had been left over from the first plague. The FSM parted the Red Puddle for Mosey, but he didn’t notice that Phil was hot on his heels. Unfortunately Phil was swallowed up by the puddle and rolled into a giant meatball.
Mosey became “Pirate Mosey,” and later pasta fell from the skies like manna, which is Hebrew for “monster.”
The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"
Pirate Mosey really wanted that Pirate ship, and putting all labour issues aside he declared his band to now be Pirates, and he led the Pirate up to the top of Mount Salsa, where he thought there might be a good chance of finding the Pirate ship he’d been searching for all these years. But they didn’t find the ship, and the people didn’t know how to act like Pirates – after all, they were really just a bunch of short-order cooks – and the FSM came down and declared that they’d better clean up their act, because real Pirate belonged on the open seas, not on a mountain. And Pirate Mosey was embarrassed and wouldn’t come down off the mountain, even though the rest of his band took the FSM’s advice and went down into the town at the bottom of Mount Salsa to wait for their captain. Finally, the FSM got completely fed up, and He visited Mosey on the mountaintop and told him where to find the sea, and, after admitting that is had been a long since Creation and maybe He’d rethink some of His decisions if He had to do it all over again, He gave Pirate Mosey some advice which came in the form of ten stone tablets. These tablets Mosey called “Commandments” (since he had a healthy sense of drama) – although the short-order cooks grew confused and misnamed them the “Condiments” – but because of the phrasing, the FSM refers to them as the “I’d Really Rather You Didn’ts.” Unfortunately, Mosey dropped two of them on the way down the mountain, which partly accounts for Pastafarians’ flimsy moral standards, but the rest you can read as follows:
The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"
1. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Act Like a Sanctimonious Holier-Than-Thou Ass When Describing My Noodly Goodness. If Some People Don't Believe In Me, That's Okay. Really, I'm Not That Vain. Besides, This Isn't About Them So Don't Change The Subject.
2. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Use My Existence As A Means To Oppress, Subjugate, Punish, Eviscerate, And/Or, You Know, Be Mean To Others. I Don't Require Sacrifices, And Purity Is For Drinking Water, Not People.
3. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Judge People For The Way They Look, Or How They Dress, Or The Way They Talk, Or, Well, Just Play Nice, Okay? Oh, And Get This In Your Thick Heads: Woman = Person. Man = Person. Samey = Samey. One Is Not Better Than The Other, Unless We're Talking About Fashion And I'm Sorry, But I Gave That To Women And Some Guys Who Know The Difference Between Teal and Fuchsia.
4. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Indulge In Conduct That Offends Yourself, Or Your Willing, Consenting Partner Of Legal Age AND Mental Maturity. As For Anyone Who Might Object, I Think The Expression Is Go F*** Yourself, Unless They Find That Offensive In Which Case They Can Turn Off the TV For Once And Go For A Walk For A Change.
5. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Challenge The Bigoted, Misogynist, Hateful Ideas Of Others On An Empty Stomach. Eat, Then Go After The B******.
6. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Build Multimillion-Dollar Churches/Temples/Mosques/Shrines To My Noodly Goodness When The Money Could Be Better Spent (Take Your Pick):
7. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Go Around Telling People I Talk To You. You're Not That Interesting. Get Over Yourself. And I Told You To Love Your Fellow Man, Can't You Take A Hint?
8. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You If You Are Into, Um, Stuff That Uses A Lot Of Leather/Lubricant/Las Vegas. If The Other Person Is Into It, However (Pursuant To #4), Then Have At It, Take Pictures, And For The Love Of Mike, Wear a CONDOM! Honestly, It's A Piece Of Rubber. If I Didn't Want It To Feel Good When You Did IT I Would Have Added Spikes, Or Something.
RAmen
THEN THE FSM SAID, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And the FSM adjusted his willowy eyestalks and saw that the light was good; and the FSM divided the light from the darkness. He called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night or “Prime Time.” So the evening and the morning were the first day.
The Second Day: The Firmament.
The FSM was tired of flying and He couldn’t tread water for very long, so he said, “Let there be firmament in the midst of the waters, and let the firmament form coves to one day provide safe harbour for Pirates – no, wait, firmament is a stupid word; let it be called land, since ‘firmament-ho!’ sounds even stupider then plain firmament – and let this land divide the water. And let there be a volcano to spew forth beer, which seems like a benevolent idea.” And the volcano spewed forth beer and he tasted it and declared it to be quite good. So the evening and the morning were the second day.
The Third Day: Land and Vegetation
When the FSM awoke, his thoughts were muddled and He didn’t know where he was. Slightly hungover, and somewhere in the Indian ocean, the FSM found himself a little confused about what he had created the day before; and so, self-conscious about the previous night’s misbehaviour, He started barking Godlike orders in an attempt to re-establish His powerfulness, and then the FSM decided to organize. He said, “Let the water under the heavens be gathered together in one place, and let the dry land appear” (having forgotten about Day Two’s firmament command), and He called the dry land Earth (having only yesterday come up with the term Land), and the gathering together of the waters he called Seas. And the FSM dried His Noodly Appendages under the hot Light, and He saw that it was good but that there was a problem. For now He had an earth full of Land and Firmament, which wouldn’t do. So he lifted Day Two’s firmament up to the heavens and renamed it Heaven. The land from Day Three He left where is was. Heaven seemed like a sweeter pad, and the FSM decided He’d live there and commute to the earth. Then the FSM said, “Let the earth bring forth grass, semolina, rice, and whatever else can be turned into food that resembles my Noodly Appendages,” and He saw that this was an original idea, which was certainly good. That night He drank a little less from the Beer Volcano, which was relocated to Heaven along with the rest of the firmament. So the evening and the morning were the third day.
The Forth Day: the Sun, the Moon, the Stars
At this point, the FSM was a little sore from overexertion. It was difficult for Him to find a comfortable resting position during the night, which was darker then squid-ink pasta would eventually be. So He said, “Let there be lights in the heavens, and let there be two lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser to rule the night.” And since He had big plans for the next day, He turned in early. So the evening and the morning were the forth day.
The Fifth Day: The Big Bang
The fifth day was going to be huge, so the FSM rose early. Then He said, “Let the waters abound, let the skies fill with birds, let the earth bring forth creatures, each according to its kind. Then let them canoodle and be fruitful.” And he saw that it was good, and He was feeling pretty proud of himself, so He hit the Beer Volcano hard that afternoon.
Later that evening He rolled out of bed and landed hard on the firmament, and this, fair reader, was the true Big Bang. He had a funny feeling and realized in His drunken stupor that he had not only built a factory in Heaven that turned out scantily clad women in transparent high heels, but He’s also created a midget on earth, whom He called Man. And He said, “Wow. Even I might have overreached my Noodly Appendage on this one,” and not even sure what day it was anymore, he decided to take an extended break from the whole creation gig, and He gave a quick blessing and declared, “From here on out, every Friday is a holiday.”
The Olive Garden of Eden
That midget, however, was goddamn noisy. The FSM couldn’t deal with all the complaining down on earth, so the Lord FSM commanded the midget, saying, “Here’s an idea . . . why don’t you collect the semolina, rice and what-have-you, and make pasta in my image. That’s what it’s there for. And fill your mouth with it and be quiet and peaceful. But be careful with the olive tree, for the olive itself is good, but the pit inside is rock hard and you could choke on it or break a tooth, so you should consider it as evil; if you choke you shall surely die. Which would mean I wasted a hell of a lot of time on you, although I’m already having second thoughts.”
Man wasn’t excited about eating pasta seven nights a week, so the FSM broke down and brought him all the animal, and Man renamed each as a food group. Cattle he called “beef.” Pigs he called “pork,” “ham,” or “bacon.” Strangely, Man stuck with “chicken” for chicken. Perhaps Man was tired at this point and has lost his sense of creativity.
The FSM suggested that Man take a nap, so he did. When he awoke, the FSM said, “Man have I got a surprise for you. Check this out. Woman!”
The midget stared blankly for a moment, then said, “Can I keep her?” And the FSM said, “From now on a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh,” and the FSM thought to Himself, This should be interesting.
“I owe you one,” said the midget-man.
Before long Man broke his damned tooth on that olive pit, and the FSM said. “What did I give you ears for if not to listen to me?” And Man said, “I have ears?” And he eventually located them on the sides of his head, but not before discovering a small Noodly Appendage between his legs, which he noticed was infinitely smaller then even the shortest of the FSM’s appendages, and he realized that his woman appeared to be thinking the same thing, so the midget-man said, “Hand me one of those fig leaves, will you?”
Later the woman suggested that Man didn’t need such a big fig leaf, and she hinted that there might be another Man somewhere on earth, maybe Eden had a gardener somewhere, and the midget-man looked her up and down and said, “one word, honey. Cellulite.”
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves coverings. And they heard the sound of the FSM floating around the Olive Garden and they hid and said, “What are you doing here?” Then the FSM said, “Where are you?” Man said, “I heard you floating around over there, and I was afraid because I was naked; and I hid myself.”
And the FSM said, “That’s fine, but can you tell me where you have hid those delicious breadsticks? I haven’t eaten since the Creation.”
“We ate them all,” the midget-man lied. “There aren’t any more breadsticks left.”
The Flood
Then the FSM saw that the wickedness of Man was great on the earth, and that every thought of the little midget was ruled by his stomach.
Then the FSM said, “Fine, I’ll just cook for myself,” and He produced a great Colander of Goodness and He did collect water in an enormous pot, which he heated; and He did drop in a heaping portion of pasta and slowly simmer the sauce for so long that the original humans weren’t even around anymore when He was finally ready to eat. And He poured the spaghetti and water into the Colander of Goodness, careful to make sure the water went down the drain of His sink. And as He was eating, He vacantly considered where the drain did empty, and the FSM said, “Uh oh.”
Luckily, Noah and Noah’s sons, Ham, Cheese, and Omel, and Noah’s wife and the three wives of his sons with them, had been working on “Big Noah’s Floating Menagerie,” which was to be housed in a giant ark of Noah’s design. On that day all the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and the drains of the heavens were opened. And the rain was on the earth forty days and forty nights, and the ark did float but it did stink.
After several battles with Pirates, the ark did finally rest on Mount Ararat, and when the waters receded it was a long walk home for Noah and his family. And no one could locate the unicorn pair, but they did discover Noah’s son Ham in a back chamber of the ark, picking his teeth with an oversized toothpick that remarkably resembled a horn.
The Tower of Scrapple.
Like Noah, his sons were real entrepreneurs, and they did spread out – Ham went to the southern nations and started the Hamites; Cheese went to the central nations and started the Cheese-Its; and Omel journeyed northward and started the Omelets. There they did establish family diners to supply the locals with foodstuffs.
Ham, who was a bit of a troublemaker and always looking to squeeze out a few extra sheckels, determined to develop a foodstuff that could be produced from the leftover pig snouts and sawdust that did normally just get thrown in the garbage at the diner. He ground up the waste and did call it “scrapple.” And he did enlist the help of Nimrod to help market the scrapple. Needles to say, it wasn’t a fast seller, and the scrapple did pile up out behind the dinner, sitting under the sun until it formed a sort of wretched tower.
Since they couldn’t sell it for food, Nimrod suggested that they call it the Tower of Scrapple and charge a fancy sum for passersby to come and behold its majesty. “A fool is born every minute,” he said to Ham, and Ham agreed.
Shortly thereafter, the FSM started noticing a bed smell around the firmament. He floated down and declared, “That thing, and I mean this quite literally, stinks to high heaven. What do you think you’re doing?” Thinking fast on his feet, Nimrod said, “We built it as a tribute to your greatness.” But the FSM wasn’t buying it. “I thought I told you to be fruitful and fill the earth,” He said to Nimrod. “And not with flies, with people.” Nimrod didn’t have a response to that, so the FSM told him, “Just tear it down.”
Mosey
And the diners did prosper, the population feasted and grew in number until there were so many short-order cooks that Phil the night manager did fear a revolt to his authority.
And he ordered that no more short-order cooks be hired, but one young boy named Mosey, who couldn’t sit still and was always running his mouth, did talk his way into a job by claiming to be able to cook “the best papyrus on rye this side of the Euphrates.
Mosey did indeed cook a mean papyrus, and he was an artist with the deep fryer, but he did grow tired of the long hours and the mistreatment, and one day he walked into his manager’s office, threw down his apron, and said, “I’m tired of the nine to five. I’m quitting to become a Pirate.”
That got the FSM’s attention, and he kept careful track of Mosey. In fact, years later the FSM, who had grown tired of Phil’s mistreatment of the short-order cooks and was getting to be in a generally bad mood, found Mosey camping out in the desert, drawing up plans for a massive Pirate Ship, and the FSM spoke to Mosey through a burnt roasted marshmallow and commanded Mosey to go back and lead all the short-order cooks from under Phil’s control. The FSM bade Mosey to hire the cooks and start a restaurant of his own, preferably one that specialized in foods more to His liking. “Maybe call it the Olive Garden. You could manage the kitchen staff,” said the FSM. But when Mosey returned to the diner, Phil refused to release the short-order cooks’ last paycheck if they followed Mosey.
Now the FSM was really angry with Phil, and he punished him with the following plagues:
- A rain of spaghetti sauce.
- A hail of linguini.
- Repetitively playing Kid Abyssinia’s rap hit “I’m Makkeda Daddy” inside Phil’s head.
Phil relented, and the FSM commanded the short-order cooks to celebrate the yearly “Pastover,” where the angel hair pasta of death passes over all the houses that have a smear of sauce on the doorpost.
Now the FSM spoke to Mosey, saying, “This month shall be the beginning of your new restaurant franchise; it shall be the first month of the rest of your life. Speak to all the short-order cook saying ‘Begin your sauce on the tenth day of this month. Every man shall prepare a sauce, stirring it occasionally. If you don’t have enough people to eat it, go over to your in-laws’ house.
“`Now you shall cook the sauce until the fourteenth day of the same month. And you take some of the sauce and smear it on your doorpost. Then you shall pour the remainder of the sauce over a heaping bowl of the pasta of your choosing, and you shall eat all of it.
“`With a belt at your waist, a patch over your eye, and a cutlass in your hand, you shall eat the pasta. For you are no longer short-order cooks, but the sauce on your door will mark you as Pirates!’”
Though Phil had reluctantly agreed to release the last paychecks, as soon as Mosey led the short-order cooks out of the diner, he changed his mind. Phil chased after them, all the way to the giant puddle of spaghetti sauce that had been left over from the first plague. The FSM parted the Red Puddle for Mosey, but he didn’t notice that Phil was hot on his heels. Unfortunately Phil was swallowed up by the puddle and rolled into a giant meatball.
Mosey became “Pirate Mosey,” and later pasta fell from the skies like manna, which is Hebrew for “monster.”
The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"
Pirate Mosey really wanted that Pirate ship, and putting all labour issues aside he declared his band to now be Pirates, and he led the Pirate up to the top of Mount Salsa, where he thought there might be a good chance of finding the Pirate ship he’d been searching for all these years. But they didn’t find the ship, and the people didn’t know how to act like Pirates – after all, they were really just a bunch of short-order cooks – and the FSM came down and declared that they’d better clean up their act, because real Pirate belonged on the open seas, not on a mountain. And Pirate Mosey was embarrassed and wouldn’t come down off the mountain, even though the rest of his band took the FSM’s advice and went down into the town at the bottom of Mount Salsa to wait for their captain. Finally, the FSM got completely fed up, and He visited Mosey on the mountaintop and told him where to find the sea, and, after admitting that is had been a long since Creation and maybe He’d rethink some of His decisions if He had to do it all over again, He gave Pirate Mosey some advice which came in the form of ten stone tablets. These tablets Mosey called “Commandments” (since he had a healthy sense of drama) – although the short-order cooks grew confused and misnamed them the “Condiments” – but because of the phrasing, the FSM refers to them as the “I’d Really Rather You Didn’ts.” Unfortunately, Mosey dropped two of them on the way down the mountain, which partly accounts for Pastafarians’ flimsy moral standards, but the rest you can read as follows:
The Eight "I'd Really Rather You Didn'ts"
1. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Act Like a Sanctimonious Holier-Than-Thou Ass When Describing My Noodly Goodness. If Some People Don't Believe In Me, That's Okay. Really, I'm Not That Vain. Besides, This Isn't About Them So Don't Change The Subject.
2. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Use My Existence As A Means To Oppress, Subjugate, Punish, Eviscerate, And/Or, You Know, Be Mean To Others. I Don't Require Sacrifices, And Purity Is For Drinking Water, Not People.
3. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Judge People For The Way They Look, Or How They Dress, Or The Way They Talk, Or, Well, Just Play Nice, Okay? Oh, And Get This In Your Thick Heads: Woman = Person. Man = Person. Samey = Samey. One Is Not Better Than The Other, Unless We're Talking About Fashion And I'm Sorry, But I Gave That To Women And Some Guys Who Know The Difference Between Teal and Fuchsia.
4. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Indulge In Conduct That Offends Yourself, Or Your Willing, Consenting Partner Of Legal Age AND Mental Maturity. As For Anyone Who Might Object, I Think The Expression Is Go F*** Yourself, Unless They Find That Offensive In Which Case They Can Turn Off the TV For Once And Go For A Walk For A Change.
5. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Challenge The Bigoted, Misogynist, Hateful Ideas Of Others On An Empty Stomach. Eat, Then Go After The B******.
6. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Build Multimillion-Dollar Churches/Temples/Mosques/Shrines To My Noodly Goodness When The Money Could Be Better Spent (Take Your Pick):
1. Ending Poverty
2. Curing Diseases
3. Living In Peace, Loving With Passion, And Lowering The Cost Of Cable
I Might be a Complex-Carbohydrate Omniscient Being, But I Enjoy The Simple Things In Life. I Ought To Know. I AM the Creator.2. Curing Diseases
3. Living In Peace, Loving With Passion, And Lowering The Cost Of Cable
7. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Go Around Telling People I Talk To You. You're Not That Interesting. Get Over Yourself. And I Told You To Love Your Fellow Man, Can't You Take A Hint?
8. I'd Really Rather You Didn't Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You If You Are Into, Um, Stuff That Uses A Lot Of Leather/Lubricant/Las Vegas. If The Other Person Is Into It, However (Pursuant To #4), Then Have At It, Take Pictures, And For The Love Of Mike, Wear a CONDOM! Honestly, It's A Piece Of Rubber. If I Didn't Want It To Feel Good When You Did IT I Would Have Added Spikes, Or Something.
RAmen
Nobody cares about your stupid False Holy Noodle
now why don't you get right with God or get lost
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